


About Shrooms and Final Battles (Oh, that's a thing?)

by DarkkBluee



Series: Prompt Fills [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Prank Wars, Remorse, magic mushrooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkkBluee/pseuds/DarkkBluee
Summary: Asa's Prompt: Harry trips balls on Muggle shrooms, and both he and Voldemort lose touch with reality. It doesn't get better from there.





	About Shrooms and Final Battles (Oh, that's a thing?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anna_Hopkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/gifts).



> NOTE: THE AUTHOR DOES NOT SUPPORT INGESTING PSYCHEDELIC SUBSTANCES OF ANY KIND!
> 
> Note: I've never been high, so the actions in the story are based on what I found through the internet.
> 
> Also Note: The words spoken by Harry and Voldemort in this fic are said when they are drugged. By no means are they correct or appropriate definitions or meanings in them. The characters are drugged. Their words are just as non sense as such.
> 
> Another Prompt Fill. Coz I felt like it.

It is the night of the Final Battle and Harry is ready to die. He walks slowly, the resurrection stone in his hand and invisibility cloak on his body. He takes another look at his godfather, still looking as handsome as the day he died and smiles. Sirius smiles back, and nods. However, his nod is stilted, as if his attention is elsewhere. Harry frowns and looks at where Sirius’s gaze is.

 

“Sirius what?” He asks, deciding if there is some invisible threat that only spirits can see.

 

“I never expected to see them grow.” Sirius muses and looks at James. “Remember the day when we planted those, for future Marauder’s to experience?”

 

“Don’t distract my son!” Lily snapped, but the damage was already done.

 

Harry walks towards where Sirius had pointed out and bends down, staring at the mushroom.

 

“It’s just a mushroom?” Harry muses. He then remembers that his father and Sirius had planted those for future Marauders and so surely, there could be something special about them?

 

Curiosity aroused even in the face of his imminent death, Harry pokes at it. It does nothing magical, smells like a mushroom and even looks like a mushroom.

 

“For barbecue, maybe?” He wonders and plucks one up. Deciding that indigestion is not a problem for dead bodies to suffer through, he eats one.

 

Then he stands and resumes his journey. The clearing is right up ahead, Voldemort and Death waiting for him, and Harry is not afraid.

 

He takes the last step.

 

His cloak hits a snag on the ground.

 

The ring, his wand and the cloak fall down as he stumbles into the clearing.

 

“Harry Potter.” Voldemort whispers. But Harry is more distracted by the faint smell of Jasmine and Lily and turns around to find it’s source.

 

“Come to die.” A voice whispers from behind him and Harry turns.

 

“Yeah. No.” A raises a finger and shushes him. “Just wait a second.”

 

“What?” Voldemort somehow manages to raise his non existent eyebrows. “Having second thoughts, Harry? You should have accepted my offer in the first year. Then maybe-”

 

“No no no.” Harry shakes his head, even as he stumbles around. The smell changes and his nose twitches. “Look, I’m all down for the dying thing. That’s why I’m here ya know? But…” Harry gets an epiphany and stands and looks at red eyes. “Come here!”

 

“What?” Bellatrix screeches. “You dare to order the Dark Lord around?!”

 

“Oh shut up, you harpy.” Harry snaps, as the world tilts and only the smell remains. “Do you smell Gunpowder, Vol-” he looks at the pink hair on that bald skull and tilts his head, “-demorrr? -Demorty? -demort?”

 

“Gunpower?” Voldemort is suddenly very alert and asks the stumbling boy. “You smell gunpowder? Where boy?”

 

“Over there?” Harry asks as he points in the direction he came. He is distracted by the fascinating glow the grass in the clearing has, and sits down on his knees to stare at it. Maybe this wonderful grass is the reason Voldemort decided to hold the final bow wow here?

 

“-er! -tter!! Potter!!” Harry raises his head from the glowing orange grass to look at a pink haired, handsome Tom Riddle.

 

“Get up Potter!” Hands clench upon his shoulders and Harry staggers up. “Show me where you smelt gun powder! We cannot have a battle if some ignorant muggleborn has buried mines in here. Stupid muggleborns, bringing their danger into the wizarding world. That’s why all of them are scum that needs to die.” Pinky rambles as he drags Harry towards the fascinating smell.

 

“Wow, you have awesome hair. Bloody cool, mate.” Harry finally gave into the urge and ran his fingers through the hair. It feels like skin and scales and Harry raises an impressed brow. “From where do you get your conditioner? It feels smoother than even Ginny’s.”

 

“Are you mocking me, Potter?” Noseless slits flare and red eyes flash in anger. “One last defiance before death?”

 

“Oh!” Harry turns his head from flashing red eyes and pink hair and points to the direction of the smell. “There it is! Gunpowder!”

 

Voldemort looks at the location Harry has pointed. He casts a few spells, all of which come out negative.

 

“Is the iron affecting my detection spells?” He muses and walks forwards slowly, dragging the Boy-Who-Lived with him. Because if there was a mine, then he would push the boy forwards and save himself.

 

But nothing happens even as he goes closer and he turns to the boy.

 

“Were you serious, boy? Or were you making fun of me?” Harry looks dazed and voldemort shakes him. “Answer me, boy!”

 

“Sirius.” Harry mumbles. “Told me. Right there.” And Harry points to the mushroom.

 

Voldemort lets go of the body and Harry slides down to the ground, staring at the green flower with red hair which was dancing in the wind.

 

On the other side of the clearing, Voldemort looks at the spot with strange mushrooms growing. He flicks his wand and a sections of the earth rises up in a bubble to settle in front of his eyes.

 

“A mine? No, it’s just mushrooms.” Voldemort muses amused. Curiosity wars with the satisfaction of an impending victory and an obvious conclusion is reached: The Boy Who Lived was playing a last prank before his death.

 

Voldemort pokes at it. It does nothing magical, smells like a mushroom and even looks like a mushroom.

 

“It looks different from a normal mushroom.” He whispers. “Is it a Forbidden Forest speciality?” And with the conviction and confidence of a man sure of his immortality, Voldemort plucks one up and eats it.

 

“It is surprisingly chewy.” He wonders aloud and shakes his head at the smell of Jasmine and Lily now permeating the air.

 

“Potter, is that you?” He turns to gaze at the boy sitting on the grass. The boy has flower crowns on his head and is giggling uncontrollably.

 

“Look!” Potter turns to him and whispers. He raises his hand and turns them around slowly. “Look at my hands!”

 

“Very pretty.” Voldemort nods in agreement. “Why do you have flower crowns on your head? And… is that gun powder?” He ducks down as the smell of gunpowder reaches his nose. Memories come up unwillingly, memories he was sure he had suppressed using Occlumency. The planes, the bombs, the shelter. And the smell.

 

“Oh gods, the smell.” Voldemort cups his hands over his mouth, trying to keep down the bile. It doesn’t work and bends over to vomit. The smell of blood, of stale air in shelters, of urine and gunpowder in the aftermath. The sound of planes and bombs, the rocking explosions and the dread of no tomorrow. Of being only a dead body in a gunnery. Of having his hands or feet or head torn apart by shrapnel or debris.

 

“Oh Gods.” He whispers. His body curls and he slumps down beside the smell of bile. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die like this.” His fingers clench on his head. “Take me back! I want to go back to Hogwarts! I don’t belong here!” He weeps and rocks himself. “I don’t belong here! Take me back!”

 

Harry looks over where Voldemort is crying and crawls there. The words of the crying man resonate deeply within him and he feels the sudden urge to comfort this man.

 

“There, there.” He rubs down his back. “It’s just for the summer, no harm done. So what if you have to huddle in a really small space and be half beaten and half starved to death? It’s the only safe place for us!”

 

“You know?” Voldemort turns to the boy and jumps on him, his arms holding the boy close. They stumble and fall on the ground, Harry half crushed beneath the much larger body. “You know?! Oh, what am I going to do? If anyone knows, they’ll think me weak and abandon me there. It was ‘mudblood this’ and ‘mudblood that’ before. If they know, it will be ‘weak, stupid mudblood orphan’ again and I will never get a job!”

 

“I know, don’t worry.” Harry still pats the man, his arms locked behind the larger form. “I had to go back for the summer too.” He whispers, as if sharing a secret.

 

“It’s horrible!” Voldemort wails. “You have this stupid pureblood propaganda and i had to at least be a halfblood before they would concede to me. Even when I used to torture and curse those ants beneath my feet, they would not give in to a ‘mudblood’. But when I got to be a half-blood, they bowed immediately.” The long fingered hands pulls the boy tighter closer. “I still tortured them, of course. Sharing misery, reducing pain and all.”

 

“Not cool, mate. Not cool.” Harry coos at the pink haired man in his arms. “Sharing misery is good, but sharing pain just makes them hate you more. Trust me, I would know. Whenever I shared my pain with Dudley, he just got me in more trouble.” He advices sagely.

 

“You think so?” Voldemort pulls back to look at glowing green eyes. “You really think so?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “It’s like, you get pain, you share pain, you get in trouble. Then you are in more pain, so you share more pain and you get in more trouble. It’s a downward spiral, mate.”

 

“Really? But sharing pain makes me feel alive.” Voldemort tilts his head and Harry is surprised by how cute the gesture is.

 

“Then you’re a sadist. Hermione told me all about it.” Harry deduces. “Sharing pain and liking it means you’re a sadist. Suffering pain and liking it means you’re a masochist.”

 

“I don’t like pain, but paining others is nice.” Voldemort confesses. “So I am a sadist.” He nods sagely. “Sadist is a much better name than Demon spawn, or monster or mudblood. Very well, call me Lord Sadist now.”

 

“Okay, Lord Sadist.” Harry agrees, for what is in a name? “Do you know the best way to pain others?”

 

“What?” Voldemort asks eagerly. “What? What? What?”

 

“Pranks!” Harry exclaims and giggles.

 

“Pranks?” Voldemort muses. “Yes, pranks!”

 

“Let’s go do some pranks!” Harry pats the soft hair that feels like skin again. “Before the fact that you’re a monster who is incapable of remorse and  killed my parents makes me feel guilty for comforting you.”

 

“Lord Sadist is not incapable of anything!” Voldemort exclaims. “I am the most powerful, most sadist Dark Wizard ever! I am capable to unsupported flight, and talking to snakes and killing people. What’s a little remorse?”

 

“Is that so?” Harry narrows his eyes and glares. “Prove it then! Remorse first, pranks later!”

 

“Promise?” Voldemort asks, his pupils blown wide.

 

“Promise.” Harry manages to remove one hand from the stranglehold of pale arms and holds out a pinky. “Pinky promise.” He nods gravely.

 

“Okay.” Voldemort shakes that pinks with his hand, for Lord Sadist does not shake pinkies on promises. “And then,” he looks down at the handsome face underneath him, feels that warm body pressed under his own and bends down his face to breath on dry lips. “And then sex after?”

 

“Sure.” Harry blinks up at the pink haired handsome man. “Remorse first, then pranks and then sex.”

 

Voldemort smiles wide and stands up, pulling the smaller warm body up with him.

 

“Who first?” He asks.

 

“That is a tough question.” Harry tilts his head. “Bellabitch? She killed my Godfather.”

 

“We can go for Nagini next. She always nags a lot.” Voldemort suggests.

 

**********

 

The next day, half the wizarding world woke up to no Daily Prophet (the building went down in pink smoke), Graffiti on the walls (Diagon Alley was painted over by Voldemort’s slogans), a brand-new renovated Alley (Harry convinced Voldemort to renovate Knockturn Alley and instill new life in the Dark Arts) and toilet-paper covered Ministry offices (because they both agreed that the Ministry people were scum and full of shit).

 

Half the Death Eaters had been pranked by Harry to be either bald (the men), or pink haired (the women). Hogwarts professors and DA all had a lightning-bolt shaped mohawk painted according to their house colors, courtesy of Voldemort. Nagini was now hairy and had a particularly eye-catching orange mane. The Final Battle Ground looked like a unicorn had thrown up there and Hogwarts had all furniture stuck to the ceiling.

 

“Wow, what a trip.” Harry says to Voldemort as they lay together naked on a bed in the Room of Requirement.

 

“Tell me about it.” Voldemort huffs from where he is still holding the green eyed boy close. “Should have done this ages ago.”

 

“What? Pranking? Sleeping with your arch nemesis?” Harry teases as his hands wander down the planes of the newly humanized body below his own.

 

“Hah hah, very funny.” Voldemort turns and covers the savior’s body with his own. “I wouldn’t have slept with Dumbledore for all the gold in the world.” He raises a hand to grip the green eyed menace’s hair with his hand. He pulls and a throat covered with bites and hickeys is revealed for his perusal. “Only you, brat. Don’t make me regret it.”

 

“Don’t count on it, old man. We did a pinky promise.” Harry grins as Voldemort swoops down to bite at his neck again.

 

“You did. Lord Voldemort doesn’t pinky promise anything.” He bites at the exposed Adam’s apple as Harry bursts into laughter.

 

“Lord Voldemort does not, but Lord Sadist does.” He teases.

 

Voldemort groans.

 

“Don’t remind me, brat. Now stop laughing and make good on your promise.” He whispers huskily and grinds down against the trapped erection between their bodies.

 

“Yeah.” Harry whispers. “If you keep doing that, then I sure will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are nice. Comments are better. Three cheers for drugged!Harry and drugged!Voldemort !!


End file.
